


ten steps to becoming a happy, well adjusted, homicidal maniac

by nd_mindoir



Series: postum [4]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Shaw feels guilty, post s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nd_mindoir/pseuds/nd_mindoir
Summary: Shaw has steak, Bear lying to her feet, and Root staring at her with heart-eyes from across the table. It’d be a perfect date, not that Shaw calls it that, if it weren’t for the old creep a few tables over gaping at them. And suddenly Shaw is reminded of a part of their history she’d rather forget.
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Series: postum [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816909
Comments: 9
Kudos: 126





	ten steps to becoming a happy, well adjusted, homicidal maniac

**Author's Note:**

> This didn’t turn out like I planned and I’m not sure I like it, but oh well. It’s done, might as well post it.
> 
> I shamelessly stole the title from a comment on [youtube](https://youtu.be/18RYreNOIKk). It’s Root’s escape from Stoneridge Hospital. Her therapy sessions and her escape are among my all-time favorite POI scenes. Root is just so damn scary and epic in them.

If there is one way to win over Shaw’s heart, in a manner of speaking, it’s the promise of food and action. Everything that’s either getting her stomach full or her adrenalin levels spiking is worth her time. Which is probably why she’s stuck with Root this long and has no intention of changing anything soon.

The other woman feeds her on the rare occasion that Shaw doesn’t cook herself and takes her on one action filled mission after the other. And if there’s no promise of violence she finds different but no less appealing methods of keeping her blood pumping.

Shaw looks up from the steak she’s currently devouring and finds said woman’s half-lidded eyes staring at her through long lashes. Root has her chin rested on her fist as she completely ignores her own food and focuses instead on Shaw’s less than tactful eating manners. She wears a smile, warm rather than devious, and it crinkles her eyes around the edges.

Okay, maybe Shaw is being a bit unfair right now. And definitely lying to herself. There’s so much more than food, violence, and sex that Root offers her.

There is this weird feeling tugging in her gut whenever she watches the woman or feels her skin under her fingers. There’s a sense of belonging and home she hadn’t felt since she left her old life behind and died. She doubts she ever truly had it even then. And if her extended stay at Samaritan’s prison has taught her anything even remotely valuable, it’s that Root is her safe place.

She wouldn’t want it any other way.

But for the sake of keeping up appearance she won’t say it out loud. They both know the truth, that’s enough in her book.

“What?” She grunts around a mouthful of meat.

Root shrugs and her smile morphs into a grin.

“You have a little,” Root trails off and gestures to the corner of her own mouth. “Something there.”

Before Shaw can so much as reach out for her napkin to get rid of the sauce that has taken residence on her face, Root’s hand is already cupping her chin and her thumb brushes the stain off.

She could easily grip her wrist or turn her head. A year ago, she would have. But now Shaw merely stares at Root in return, still munching on that steak and feigning annoyance.

“There, all better.”

Her thumb lingers a second longer before Root finally pulls the hand away and licks the red sauce off her skin. She hums appreciative and just a tad too suggestive. Shaw rolls her eyes and points to Root’s food with her knife.

“Eat your salad.”

“I’d rather-”

“Root,” Shaw interrupts the innuendo she knows is coming. “You need to eat.”

Root’s eating habits have never been the best. Whereas Shaw eats food for an entire battalion, Root eats barely enough for a human half her size. And that was before the stock exchange.

When Shaw escaped from Samaritan, heavily weakened and relatively underfed, she didn’t expect Root to have become thinner herself. The war and worry for her resulted in a nine-month long trip to Eeyore mode. Or so John told her in hushed whispers.

“She wasn’t good,” he said one day between fighting and running for their lives. “Stared at those search results for hours. Sometimes even stopped listening to the Machine. Told Her not to bother talking to her if She wasn’t willing to help find you.”

Shaw didn’t need him to figure out that Root hadn’t taken her absence well but when he said that she went so far as to ignore her god she knew things were even worse than she let on. She vowed to make amends all the more. And if it meant forcing three meals a day into Root because she’d forget to eat then so be it.

She succeeded. Root regained her weight and Eeyore was gone. Most of the time, anyway. And the few times it dares to return Shaw is there. Same as Root is for her. They’ve reached the point in their lives where they need each other to keep going, and Shaw stopped pretending otherwise a long time ago.

“Fine,” she whines with a pout.

She only moves the vegetables around for couple of seconds before finally raising the fork to her mouth. Shaw nods satisfied and returns to cutting her own steak.

That is when something, or rather someone, catches her eye.

A few paces away a man sits at another table on the patio. White hair, black rimmed glasses, in his sixties. He wears a gray suit with a crisp white shirt and blue tie. It’s nothing too fancy but expensive enough to imply a well payed job. Judging by the band on his left hand he’s married, which means the older woman opposite to him is probably his wife.

But he’s not focused on her. Instead his eyes are fixed on them, Root specifically, with his lips slightly parted in shock.

Shaw narrows her eyes at him, but he doesn’t even notice and continues his blatant staring.

“Something wrong, sweetie?” Root asks.

“I’m not sure,” she mutters and nods over to the man. “But that creep is watching us. _You._ ”

Root’s face morphs into confusion for a second as she leans her head to the side, listening to whatever the Machine whispers into her ear. That She didn’t inform her of him and his stalking behavior already means he’s no imminent threat, Shaw supposes. After a beat or two Root’s grin returns even wider than before. She turns around to face the man and he swiftly snaps his head away just in time for his wife to say something and walk towards the restroom.

“So, who is that guy? Samaritan?”

“Not remotely,” Root snorts and stands ups, her salad forgotten. “This should be fun.”

Bear gets up from where he’s been lying under the table between them and stares after Root. Then he turns his head up to Shaw and barks once as if telling her to go with her.

She sighs and drops her cutlery next to her plate. She hopes no one comes cleaning the rest of her steak up while they’re doing whatever they’re going to do with whoever that man is. She wipes her mouth with her napkin, grabs Bear’s leash and follows Root.

The man’s eyes widen comically once he realizes that they’re walking towards him. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times and Shaw thinks she sees a layer of sweat building on his forehead. Clear signs of rising panic.

He definitely knows Root from her more unkind days. Not that she’s any more pleasant to be around now but at least the risk of death at her hands has dropped significantly over the years.

“Ronald,” Root exclaims in a sing-song voice. “It is so nice to see you again.”

It doesn’t even sound fake. If there’s one thing Root excels in, other than murder and lunacy, it is impersonating different characters. She’s been doing it for years, after all. But while her tone reeks of genuine happiness, her grin and the glint in her eyes offer just the tiniest amount of madness.

“R-Robin,” Ronald stutters and clears his throat. “Yes, well.”

“Robin?” Shaw whispers as she comes to a halt to Root’s left.

“How have you been?” Root ignores Shaw’s confusion completely.

He clears his throat once more and anxiously taps on the table a couple of times while his eyes skitter around, settling everywhere and nowhere.

“Fine, I’ve been just fine. And you?”

“Oh, perfect. I’ve really been making so much progress lately,” then, as if she just remembered Shaw’s presence, Root gasps and turns to her. “How rude of me. Ronald, this is Sameen. Sameen, Ronald Carmichael.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell with Shaw and she doesn’t say anything or offer a hand. She merely stares at the man who looks even more dumbfounded.

“He’s a doctor, just like you.”

What the hell? Shaw shifts her attention back to Root, her eyes narrowing further. She hasn’t been an official doctor in over a decade. Just what is Root playing at here?

“Oh, so you’ve been keeping up with your sessions,” Ronald continues somewhat surer of himself.

And suddenly it clicks. She heard that name before after all. His panicked look makes a lot more sense now.

“He was your therapist at Stoneridge.”

Ronald shifts back and forth in his chair uncomfortably. “Yes, I was.”

“Some shit job you did,” she snorts.

Root slightly slaps her arm in response, earning another scowl from Shaw. “Be nice.”

“Oh come on, he held you there against your will for weeks.”

“Technically, Harold did. And John. And you by association,” Root shrugs.

Shaw carefully controls her face to hide the flinch she feels going through her body. She doesn’t think Root meant the side remark in spite, but it hit home, and she remains quiet. It _was_ partly her fault that Root ended up there. She was the one who shot her and watched as Finch admitted her to the psychiatry. Not to mention that they held her prisoner at the library afterwards, though she was very vocal about her thoughts on that one. Shaw doesn’t really do guilt and she did have valid reasons to not care about Root’s condition back then, but that part of their shared history sits wrong with her nonetheless.

“You are not her therapist?” Ronald clarifies, some of his panic returning.

“No, I’m not her damn shrink,” Shaw rolls her eyes. “She doesn’t need any therapy.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

“It’s way too late for that,” Shaw adds and enjoys the pout on Root’s face. “The hours would be wasted.”

“So,” Ronald hesitates once more. “Who are you, then?”

“She’s the love of my life,” Root beams down at her like a lovesick puppy and Shaw rolls her eyes. “I just wanted to thank you, Ronald. Truly. Without you I would not be where I am today.”

The psychiatrist, still completely baffled by the nature of Root and Shaw’s apparent relationship, simply stares at her with a gaping mouth and wide eyes.

“I am so glad I didn’t kill you when I first wanted to. Or the second time. Or any time after,” Root blinks and tilts her head as if remembering something. “You never actually thanked us for that. She was really giving Her all trying to protect you, you know.”

“You… Still speak to your god?”

“You told him about Her?” Shaw asks slightly stunned.

Talking to a therapist at a psychiatric facility about the voice of a god only she can hear surely went well for Root.

“He wanted to know the truth,” Root answers with a shrug as if that explains anything.

“Just how much truth did you tell him?”

“Enough for him to understand that I had to leave. Right, Ronald?”

The man shrinks further into his chair, away from Root. He clearly remembers the day she escaped from the hospital. Shaw hasn’t seen any footage of what exactly happened there, but she had enough description from a completely panicked Finch to paint herself a picture. She was impressed.

“Of course, yes. Thank you,” he nods sharply, then hastily adds: “Both of you.”

“She appreciates it,” Root smiles at him, baring her teeth like a predator.

Just then, Ronald’s wife returns to the table.

“Excuse me? Ronald, darling, who are these women?”

“Oh, don’t mind us,” Root takes a step back. “We were just on our way. We should do this again, Ronald, truly catch up for old times’ sake. Until then!”

She turns and walks back to their table.

“You know that woman’s crazy, right?” Ronald hisses at Shaw. “She’s a homicidal maniac! She belongs behind bars!”

“Tried that. Didn’t stick,” Shaw shrugs. “And she’s more of a perky psycho.” Then she leans closer to him and Bear growls slightly, catching onto her threatening pose and joining in. Good boy. “Also, she’s _my_ perky psycho, so if you do anything like lock her up _again_ , I’ll find you. And believe me when I say, you do not want to find out what kind of homicidal maniac _I_ am. Understood?”

She glares at him until she receives a series of frantic nods and leaves as well.

Root has already left the patio and their table is all cleaned up, the rest of her steak gone. Shaw clenches her jaw and curses the woman under her breath until she sees her leaning against a lamppost just outside the restaurant, a small foil carton in hand.

“She had them packing up your steak while we were talking to Ronald,” Root explains.

Food; the simplest way to Shaw’s heart. There was this weird tug again.

.oOo.

It’s long past midnight but Shaw can’t sleep.

It happens sometimes. Usually the reason for her insomnia are memories of torture and false realities. This, however, is neither. This is a memory of something completely different, something she knows has been real and wishes wasn’t.

It’s dark in the bedroom but Shaw can still make out the form of Root lying next to her, on her side with her face turned towards her. Her eyes are closed, her lips apart. A peaceful picture, no hint of the years of pain she’s endured.

It’s not where Shaw’s gaze is fixed, though. Her eyes focus on her shoulder, on a spot of raised skin. A scar, a few years old, the exit wound of a bullet making its way through muscle tissue barely missing the bone.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Shaw’s gaze snaps up to Root’s face to see a pair of eyes looking right back.

“Can’t sleep?” She mumbles still half asleep.

“No.”

“Hm. Bad dreams? Or memories?”

Root shifts a bit closer and reaches out. Her fingers land on the side of Shaw’s neck, just behind her left ear to stroke the smooth skin there. Shaw can’t help but smile at the way she immediately tries to offer comfort and reassurance.

“No, nothing like that,” she hesitates. “Well, maybe something like that.”

“Talk to me, Sam.”

Silence settles between them as Shaw sorts through her own thoughts. This doesn’t come naturally to her. Talking. Feelings. Talking about feelings. But she promised Root she’d try and put her way of seeing the world into words. She grunts softly and buries herself closer into Root’s stroking fingers.

“I’m sorry,” is all she finally says.

“What for?”

Shaw trails her index finger in a circle across the scar tissue on Root’s shoulder.

“Stoneridge.”

Root scrunches up her face in confusion but then understanding dawns. Her features soften into a small smile.

“There is nothing to be sorry for.”

“They committed you against your will like crazy person,” Shaw argues. “And I just stood there.”

“Well, I’ve always been a bit out of my mind,” Root shrugs.

“Damnit, Root. I’m serious.”

Root holds her in place when Shaw tries to move away. She could still escape but the way she stares at her, determined and not planning on backing down, makes her stay and listen.

“So am I. I meant it when I thanked Ronald. He’s an incompetent perv not worthy of Her mercy – did you know he cheated on his medical exams? Honestly, someone like him gets to treat patients but you-”

“Root,” Shaw interrupts the divergence to defend her long gone medical honor before it develops into a rant.

It happened far too often already, and she knows all the words Root is going to say by now. Another person might think of it as sweet, but Shaw is just annoyed that she can’t drop it.

“Right. Sorry. Where was I?”

“Incompetent perv. Unworthy.”

“Yes. But he was helpful in a way. Or my stay at Stoneridge was,” Root shakes her head in thought. “It gave me time to think, to talk to Her. We got a better understanding of each other and I learned of a different way to achieve our goals, one that didn’t involve killing. Or, not as much killing anyway,” she smirks at that. “Who knows how things had turned out had I not been forced to stay there. This,” she waves her hand between the two of them. “Might have never happened.”

“I doubt it. You’d have found a way to annoy me,” Shaw jokes.

She can’t help but think about it more, though. What Root says is… Disturbingly true. There was a reason she shot her, after all. And that she didn’t care about stowing her away in some psychiatric facility under a false name with no chance of getting out (or so they thought.) And it wasn’t her best interest she had in mind either, like Finch always claimed he did (she doubts the truth of that very much as well.) It was petty revenge.

Her original plan was to kill Root. It was a last-second gut decision that made her aim a little bit lower and put the bullet into her shoulder rather than the head. If Root had been exactly the same coming out of that hospital as going in, she’d probably fixed her mistake the second she woke up in that car tied to the steering wheel. And even if she didn’t there’s no way she’d have helped her get out of the make-shift prison in the library. Or come to her rescue in New Jersey. Or any of the other stuff that happened in between and afterwards.

Her eyes snap up to Root’s when fingers brush against her cheek.

“You zoned out there for a second,” she whispers with evident worry.

Shaw’s lips turn slightly upwards into a small smile and instead of explaining she leans forward to capture Root’s lips with her own. It’s a soft kiss and only lasts a moment before she pulls away and settles back down onto her pillow.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Root smiles. “But what was that for?”

“For being the annoying but happy, well-adjusted, homicidal maniac that you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything on [tumblr](https://nd-mindoir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
